One More Day
by Shelby
Summary: RENTfic, Angel's getting sicker. Collin's coping with it...slashy..(DUH, it's Angel!) Sad, in a way....
1. The Problem Arises

"Shit!"  
Angel bent over and pulled the high-heeled shoe from his foot, then unceremoniously flung it against the wall of a nearby building. Next, he proceeded to repeat the process with the other shoe, leaving him standing in the rain with nothing to cover his feet but stockings, which did nothing to ease the bite of an unusually freezing autumn. Clearing a strand of hair out of his face, the transvestite looked around him hopelessly, before reaching forward to take back his scuffed up shoes.   
"Well, now that I'm lost, I might as well find somewhere to set myself up for the night...not like it'll make much of a difference now though...I'll probably freeze in the middle of the night."  
'You know talking to yourself is the first sign of craziness.' A small voice in his mind chided. Irritated, Angel scoffed back-out loud,   
"Yeah? So lock me up. At least some nuthouse'll be warmer than out here."  
Such a cynical attitude wasn't characteristic of the usually vivacious drag queen, and her highness blamed it on gender-deficient PMS. Or something like that. The voice said again, provoking another agitated groan.   
"Leave me alone, will ya?"  
Angel had gotten lost, trying to remember where it was that Collins' friend's were staying. That night he had escaped the stuffy loft for a late night walk. Collins and his other friends had gone out to the life cafe that night, and Angel hadn't been too keen to accompany them.   
'Big mistake.' Now he was lost in the city of no where. One lousy wrong turn and he was back where he had been before, absolutely nowhere. Although, now, that nowhere before seemed pretty warm compared to where he was now.   
He looked around him, more or less looking for a reasonably warm place to sleep for the night. The sun was just setting over a smoky horizon, which would sap from the smoggy New York air any warmth it had left. To top it all off, dark clouds had gathered around the skyline, threatening more rain. One eye spotted a corner that wasn't occupied by the homeless resident so frequent a sight in NYC. With a sigh, he trudged over to the spot and sat down, setting his drums in front of him to use as a makeshift pillow, and fell asleep.   
  
Morning came too quickly. With a godhelpme sigh, he opened his eyes reluctantly and pulled his weary body up. His precious drag was soaked with snow, and served him as a cold, wet blanket. Angel shivered, coughed, and batted angerly at the ever-sounding beeper at his side. If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was remind himself of that damned disease the good Lord had decided to "bless" him with. But, duty and health ruling him as it was, Angel took his AZT like a good boy.  
Once the unpleasantries were over, he succeeded in gathering enough strength to pull up his drums, and scope for a place to change. No one was gonna pay for a drag queen street drummer, no matter how cute he looked. A small abandoned theatre resided behind him, and he slipped in to change-then slipped out again just as quick. As disgusting as the life he lead was, the gruesome spider webs and roaches running around provoked him to change in a hurry.   
Angel sat, straddled the drum between his legs, and began to beat the leather with his rough hands, patting out a relaxing beat. Such a familiar feeling, his fingers against the soft leather, warm even in this bitter cold. His upper body moved over the drum like a lover, and his eyes drifted closed in contented happiness. His everlasting search for joy always ended in the drum, the calming beat, the touch and sound and feeling of knowledge and skill when his fingers hit the top. It was an emotion that could only be described as love. In a lonely life like his, this was the only solace somebody like him could find.   
Minutes, hours, days could have passed by, before Angel looked up from his insistant drumming and saw a measely couple of dollars in the can beside him.   
'Ah well,' he thought to himself, 'it could've been worse.'  
After this calming procedure, he sighed laborously and looked around for any sign as to where he was. Nothing familiar, absolutely nothing. Nothing until a voice sounded by his ear that made his young heart leap for joy.   
"Angel? What are you doing all the way out here?"  
He turned his head swiftly around to meet Mark's amused yet questioning gaze. Finally a familiar face!   
"Oh, nothing. I just got a little lost, so I decided to spend the night here. Actually not that bad once your whole body goes numb-then you can't feel a damned thing."   
Mark laughed, sounding a bit like nasal piano keys tinkering across the board. Not exactly the most attractive sound, but reassuring in the least.   
"I see, well, you got pretty lost."  
"What are you doing out there then?"  
"I just went out for a little inspiration walk."  
"Without that camera you're so stuck on?"  
"I'm still recharging the battaries."  
"I see."  
Angel sat there for a moment, before climbing to his feet and slinging his drums and clothing bag over his shoulder.   
"Mind if I join you?"  
"Be my guest. Collins is still sleeping off last night's hangover."  
This time it was Angel who laughed.   
"That sounds right."  
"Yeah." Mark's voice trailed off, before he turned his head and looked at the drag queen with mild interest. "Why didn't you come with us last night?"  
"Oh, no reason. I was just tired."  
Okay, so Angel wasn't telling the truth. Honestly, he had been more than tired-the shaking had gotten worse, and more than once he had vomited-more than once missing the toilet. Cleaning up the mess had taken half the night, while fighting extreme dizzyness had taken the other half.   
"Okay."  
They walked in silence for a little bit, not saying a word through the falling snow until they reached a tent community residing on a broken down construction area that had never exactly been finished.   
"Hold on a second."  
Angel walked over, money can in hand, and put it in the hands of a woman and small child. The woman was in truth about thirty, but easily mistaken for a much older age. Deep wrinkles of poverty had stretched across her tanned face, and the small child she held in her lap was torn and scarred with dirt.   
"Here you are."  
"Thank you sir-thank you so much."  
"Anytime."  
Angel felt the regular surge of satisfaction, before he spun around and returned to Mark's side.  
"You really like giving things away, don't you?"  
"It's nice to know you're able to do something for this damn city. Even when this damn city won't do anything for you."  
"Ah."  
Another long silence, before Angel burst into a coughing fit, her shoulders heaving up and down rapidly as her back and shoulder muscles tensed and rippled in acute pain.   
"Are you all right? We should get you home."  
"No, I'm fine, really."  
The transvestite put a finger to the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them and smiling.  
"Really, I am fine Mark, don't look so aggravated."  
Another laugh, although this time it seemed a bit more forced, as if hiding something a bit more serious than just a small cough. Nodding and taking her word for it, Mark was still a bit on edge. He knew Angel had HIV, and that it was serious, but the thought of such a vivacious friend being taken from them all seemed impossible. In an instant he had pushed it from his mind-Angel couldn't die, it just wouldn't be right.   
"Are /you/ okay Mark?"  
His thoughts were interrupted by the mock scolding of Angel's light-toned voice.   
"Oh, I'm fine." Then, laughing, repeated, "don't look so aggravated."  
"All right then, I won't."  
Yet another long silence, although this one held more tension, before Angel spun to the side and looked at Mark with wild eyes.  
"Mark, I need your help."  
"I'm listening."  
"I-" His voice faltered a little bit, before he bit his lip until the surface was raw with slight blood. Then, he resumed. "I'm not as fine as I told you. I mean, I'm-I'm really sick."  
"I know, we all do. So is Roger, and Collins, and-"  
"It isn't the HIV damnit!" Angel yelled, delicate chest heaving up and down. "I don't, I don't know whether it is or not. All I know is that no matter what I do, I keep getting the worst dizzyness, and somehow, I get the feeling that it's a lot more serious than the AZT can handle. I went to a doctor, he got all pissed, saying people like me shouldn't be bothering 'normal' people like him, and just told me to take double the doses of AZT, but either I'm going crazy or it isn't fuckin' working! I just thought, since you're-oh God, I didn't mean to spill this all out."  
Angel turned away from Mark and lay his forehead against the cold brick of an adjacent building. The shivering of his bony shoulders told Mark that he was crying. Without really knowing what to do, Mark awkwardly walked over to him, and lay a hand on the thin back.   
'So that explains all this weird behavior.'  
"Well, we've got to tell someone. Get Collins, he's bound to know someone who can help."  
Angel faced Mark, face signifigantly paler.   
"No! You can't tell anyone, you just can't. Espescially not Collins, I don't want to cause any more trouble than I already have."  
"It won't be trouble. We'll just-"  
"Mark, please."  
Angel's chest heaved up and down, and his face was drawn, coffee-cream complexioned face drained of color. This strange anxiety in their constantly bright companion frightened Mark. No longer was this the always smiling Angel, but the Angel with a serious problem that should be attended to. But the filmmaker was at a loss, he couldn't tell, he had to tell. He couldn't let go of Angel's secret, that the youth had so trustingly laid in his hands. For a second, he cursed ever hearing this news, although part of him knew that this was beyond bad.   
"All right, I promise I won't tell."  
"Thank you."  
The transvestite's whole body relaxed, as he let a wan smile creep over his face-Mark felt his heart splash with a thud into his stomach. There was no way he could keep this promise.   
  
  
They walked back to Mark and Roger's flat as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Angel chirped along happily, talking in his quick voice about this and that-but Mark found it hard to concentrate on the mindless gabber. Everytime Angel paused to cough, or shook his head in a manner to rid himself of something unseen icy cold breath caught in the bohemian's throat. But, every time Angel shook it off, and continued.   
"We're back!"  
Collins walked into the room, still looking a bit dazed, and reached out for the grinning Angel.   
"You left me here this morning."  
"You were still sleeping."  
"So?"  
Angel laughed, more like a giggle, as Collins pulled at his wrist to get him out of the room with all the people just as Roger entered, leaving Mark alone with his roommate.   
"So, how was the walk?"  
"Fine."  
"Fine? Gee, you normally go off on some stant about how inspirational the city looks at five in the morning."  
"Well, maybe it just wasn't so inspirational this morning."  
"Sure, whatever you say."  
"So, how's the song coming."  
A deadpan look was shot Mark's way.   
"I've got absolutely nothing but a dream and this damned guitar."  
"So, same as yesterday, huh?"  
  
  
  
Angel let his head roll back on his neck as Collins recapped the incidents of last night at the Life Cafe.   
"Everyone was there-we had a lot of fun. Why didn't you come?"  
The head moved up. "I-" A pause, before the boy continued, "I was just tired."  
"You've been tired for a while now. I can't help but get the feeling that it's more than tired."  
"It isn't, okay?" Angel snapped, "so just get off my back about it."  
Collins was taken aback. Never had Angel sounded so irritable-not even in the early morning when he couldn't sleep and 'accidentally' woke Angel up do to a lack of grace in movement.   
"Angel? What's wrong?!"  
"Nothing! Just leave me the hell alone! I've-I've just, oh God, I have to get out."  
The transvestite pulled himself off of the chair and ran as quickly as he could out of the room. Collins called his name, and started after him. But before he could even reach the door, he heard Angel outside. There was a moment's silence, before the sound of a quick, tense beat filled the morning air.   
  
  
Angel flung his hands on his drum fervently, and began beating as hard and as fast as possible. Anything to push away the dizzyness. Such an energy lasted a few minutes, before the transvestite's stomach was jolted to the side, and he vomited twice on the grass. Shoulders shook, chest banged, and ears roared, but without another thought, he began drumming again, faster, slower, louder, softer; it didn't matter as long as there was something else to block out the thoughts, and the guilt, that now lowered themselves like fog over his mind. He was disgusted with himself, the tone he had taken with Collins, throwing all this weight on Mark, he never wanted to get anyone else involved. But now it was too late. He stopped again, and threw up whatever was left of his whatever-was-left-in-the-fridge dinner last night, before blacking out on the hard concrete.  
  
  
"Roger! Did you see Angel?!"  
"No Collins, what happened?"  
The husky blonde looked at Collins, surprised at the pallor of his friend, so uncharictaristic of his face.   
"I was talking to him about what we had done last night at the Life Cafe, when he got all weird. I had never seen him act so irritable, then he yelled something, and ran out."  
Mark paused at the door, something had happened with Angel.   
"Roger," he said, "could you excuse us for a moment?"  
Roger nodded, an odd look crossing his face, but he stepped out of the room, leaving a puzzled and distraught Collins alone with Mark. Angel would hate the filmmaker for this, but Collins had to know.   
"I was walking with Angel this morning Collins, he had gotten lost on the way back from a drum session and I was just that way. And-"  
Mark stopped at a dark look he recieved from Collins.   
"No, nothing happened between us. But, when we were almost home, he spilled something he obviously didn't want anyone else to know, and made me promise not to tell."  
"Why wouldn't she tell me?"  
"I don't know, but she definately didn't want you to know."  
"Tell me!"  
M. Cohen was startled by the force in which Collins said this, and nodded his head.   
"All right, but you can't tell him that I told."   
"I promise."  
"He said-said that he was really sick, and that the AZT wasn't working."  
"A doctor-"  
"Angel went to a doctor, but he just told her that people like her shouldn't be bothering the upright citizens, then told her to take double the AZT."  
The teacher's face tensed, and Mark could see his hands tighten into fists. But, he said nothing, so Mark continued.  
"He didn't want to bother anyone with it, but he told me that he's been getting real dizzy, and throwing up, and-oh he didn't want me to tell you, that was almost the only thing he made clear."  
Collins got up, and started for the door.   
"What are you doing Collins?!"  
"Going out to get her!"  
"But-"  
"If it's as bad as you say, than she shouldn't be out in this cold."  
With that, he ran outside, with Mark close at his heels.   
  
  
Thomas R. Collins ran as fast as he could to the spot where he had last heard Angel drumming, right on the corner by the telephone booth where they had first met. Sure as anything, he saw Angel's drum, then saw Angel, laying halfway over-slumped down on the grass. He moved forward, and landed on his knees by the transvestite. Praying as hard as he could, he picked the youth up, both thankful and worried due to the extreme lightness of his lover. A burning head fell limply against Collins' broad chest, and thin limbs hung like an old discarded ragdoll.   
"Come on baby, wake up."  
"Collins! What, oh shit...we'd better get him inside."  
With the help of Mark, Angel was brought into the apartment, and up the stairs to the loft. Mimi was there now, obviously just arriving.   
"My gawd, what happened?!"  
"Put him on the couch."  
Roger ran into the other room to call 911 accompanied by Mark, while Mimi got a cool cloth to put on his forehead. Collins was in shock, sitting by the couch where an unconscious Angel lay. Roger's voice carried into the living room,   
"What the fuck do you mean hold? We've got an emergency here! Damn! Well to hell with you too Mister!"  
The sound of a phone slamming onto the reciever rung through the loft.   
"They said that they're too busy for some drag queen blacking out on a corner."  
"What do they mean, damnit? I'll go down there myself! Shit! They can't just let-"  
Mimi lay a comforting hand on Collins' shoulder.   
"Just sit down. I'll go call another doctor to come down and check up on him. It isn't as horrible as it looks, I'm sure."  
"I'll go with her."  
Mimi and Roger walked out of the room, leaving Mark and Collins alone. The ex-teacher was biting his knuckle until it was raw, and gazing blankly at Angel.   
"If I had known sooner."  
"It's gonna be okay Collins, Roger and Mimi'll get a doctor, and we'll get Angel the medicine, and-"  
"How are we going to pay for it all?"  
"Well...I'm sure we'll come up with something."  
With that, Mark got up, and left Collins sitting in the room, hovering over the shivering and coughing Angel.  
  
'I'm sure we'll come up with something....I sure hope we'll come up with something....what if we don't come up with something? Collins'll be heartbroken...shit...why me?....I need a drink....'   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Shards of the Mirror

Shards of the Mirror  
  
Angel awoke to a freezing room, dimly lit by a slew of candles. It took him a moment to shake away the washy look to everything around him, and his glassy gaze ended on Collins, who lay slumped halfway on the couch. He had obviously fallen asleep in his watch. Angel's thin fingers absently touched the dark cheek, as he recalled what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.   
  
--------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
"Everyone was there, we had a lot of fun. Why didn't you come?"  
"I was just tired."  
"You've been tired for a while now. I can't help but get the feeling that it's more than tired."  
"It isn't, okay? So just get off my back about it."  
"Angel, what's wrong?"  
Anger. The extreme angel that had built up in him. What was the matter with him? Couldn't he have seen that he didn't want to talk about it?   
"Nothing! Just leave me the hell alone! I've-I've just, oh God, I have to get out."  
Running down the steps, almost tripping on the stoop, throwing himself against the drum with fervent angst. Collins calling his name.   
"Angel! Angel!"  
Crying. The tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks. Spinning, dizzy, falling, gone.  
  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Collins."  
Angel whispered close to his lover's ear, trying to wake the dark skinned man up gently.   
"Collins, wake up baby."  
He needed to apologize. Did Collins know? He couldn't, not unless Mark had squealed. But even still, he wanted to tell. He wanted to spill everything out against the warm chest and shower of kisses. Collins stirred, and lifted his head.  
"Angel? You're awake!"  
"Yeah. Where is everybody?"  
"They went to bed. It's late."  
Angel stared out the dirty window, and nodded at the sparkle of stars against the ebony background.   
"Are you feeling better?"  
"Collins-" A lump formed in the drag queen's throat. Brown eyes were locked on his, and pale lips quivered with indecision. "Collins, can I talk to you?"  
"Of course, what's the matter?"  
Collins slid onto the couch next to Angel, and looked at him with keen interest. In the manner of a young child, the transvestite nestled against the broad frame, and leaned his head against the chest.   
In an instant, a flow of both tears and words erupted from the pacifist, and he had to pause several times in order to ease the heavy sobs. Collins rubbed his back, and pressed the thin body against his.   
"I'm sorry. I know I should've told you. But I was so fuckin' /scared/! I just couldn't-I didn't-I-" Another eruption of sobs.   
"I know Angel, I know."  
"How could you have?"  
"A little bird told me."  
"Mark?"  
"Yeah, but he didn't want me to say anything. I wish you had told me though, before this-"  
Angel raised a tear blotched face, and took a deep breath.   
"Collins, I don't think I'm going to get better..."  
  
  
Mark stumbled out of bed, and blinked bleary eyes. For a moment, he wasn't able to remember anything of last night's events, but they soon came tumbling back at his head in a wash of dizzyness. With a grunt of weariness, he walked through the bedroom door and into the living room/kitchen. The first thought that came to his mind was breakfast, then Angel.   
  
'Please let him be okay. Please let him be awake. Please oh please God, just this once grant me a little slack.'  
  
The filmmaker looked towards the couch, to see Angel rested up against Collins, wrapped in a warm embrace. Both were asleep. Mark breathed a sigh of relief, for Angel's position clearly told that he had in fact woken up during the night.   
  
'It must be nice,' he thought, 'to have someone like Collins.'   
  
He decided against waking the two up, and looked in the small cupboards for anything that looked remotely like food and wasn't turning a drastic green. 'Although,' he though again at the sound of his stomach growling, 'right now that doesn't seem so bad...'   
Roger and Mimi were still sleeping also. The dancer had spent the night in the loft, taking care of Angel for a reasonable amount of time before trying to convince Collins to go to bed. Naturally, her pleas had no effect on him, and he had remained by the couch's side.   
  
"Aha!" He cried out, a bit too loudly.   
"'Aha' what Mark?"  
Angel looked up, rubbed his eyes, and looked at him with slightly drowsy interest.   
"Nothing. I just think I've found something to eat."  
"Good for you."  
"You look better."  
"I feel worse." Angel laughed weakly, and sat up a little.   
"Are you up to eating anything?"  
"Naw. You'd better save it for Roger and them."  
"You sure?"  
"I'm sure." Angel smiled wanly, and shivered. "My Gawd it's cold in here. Don't you think so?"  
"It's the warmest it's been all week."  
"Really? I'm freezing!"  
"I'll go get you another blanket."  
Mark disappeared for a moment, and came back with an old quilt that had previously been lying on his bed.   
"This oughta' warm you right up."  
"Thanks." Angel wrapped it around his shaking shoulders, and fell into a short coughing fit. When he finished and opened his eyes, he found not only Mark looking on in concern, but a disheveled Roger and Mimi starting towards him.   
"Good morning Angel."  
"Good morning."  
"Are you feeling better?"  
"A little, I guess." He stopped, and stared at the onslaught of sympathetic faces. "I'm fine. Stop staring at me like I'm sitting in my deathbed. It's probably just a little bug, gone in a few days, then I'll be as well as I ever was."  
  
'Yeah,' the voice in Angel's head chided, 'coughing and throwing up just like before. You'll be as well as you ever were.'  
  
"Shut up." Came a low response through Angel's clenched teeth, thankfully soft enough as to not be heard by any other resident of the room.  
"So what's for breakfast Marky?" Mimi said, trying to lighten to mood a bit.   
"I think I found some Cheerios that aren't going bad."  
"Do Cheerios go bad?"  
"I just found a box with green stuff growing off of it."  
"I'm not eating those Cheerios."  
"No, I found another box that isn't rotting...yet..."  
"Pancakes..." A bass voice from beside Angel came, drenched in the warmth of a half awake state.   
"Pancakes?"  
Collins sat up, scratched his side absently, and yawned. "Yes. I was having a dream about pancakes."  
"Must've been a nice dream."  
"Yeah...pancakes, and butter, and strawberry jelly..."  
Angel scrunched up his nose a bit. "Strawberry jelly? On pancakes?"  
"Yes. What's wrong with that?"  
"Nothing, I just never eat pancakes with strawberry jelly."  
"It's delicious. You should try it."  
"Sure."  
Collins looked at his lover, and hooked an arm around his waist. "Feeling better?"  
"Eh. Sure."  
"Sure..." Collins muttered, before kissing Angel, then sitting up completely with a groan.  
"I feel like I've been sleeping with a rock for a pillow."  
"Worse, you've been sleeping on our couch."  
This ending in a few chuckles, but stopped with a harsh bang as Angel doubled over on the couch, vomiting in heavy heaves on the cold floor. Once again the room swam, and the familiar voices around him sounded distant, and strange.  
  
  
  
"Get him another blanket."  
"Somebody go light sommore candles."  
"Where's a mop?"  
"Does it look like we have one?"  
"Don't yell at me!"  
He could vaguely feel a cool hand being pressed against his forehead.  
"He's burning up!"  
"Call a doctor!"  
"Didn't we already try that?"  
"Try it again!"  
Angel rocked back and forth, quivering more violently than ever. He felt frighteningly out of balance, swaying to and fro, unable to catch his breath. A deep voice penetrated his wall of fright, and he could sense something warm being pressed against his frail body.   
"Come on Angel girl, just calm down, it's okay, it's okay, shhhh...."  
  
And with a dizzying jolt, blackness slipped over him, and he fell into heavy unconscious.   



	3. The End of His Game

The End of His Game  
  
  
  
(Author's Note: This chapter's written from Collin's point of view. Just, in case there was some doubt in thoust little minds...)  
  
  
He looked so small, so frail laying there in that big bed with it's starched stiff sheets and rubbery pillows. The last place I wanted him to be was in a hospital, in the hands of the cold, unfeeling doctors who respected nothing but their own damn paychecks. But Mark said this was the best place to take him, I guess he was right. At least here Angel could get the proper treatment, and be back on his feet in no time. Now, though, looking at his face all contorted with pain when he should be resting peacefully, oh God-they wouldn't even let me touch him.   
  
Everything had been a blur, from the moment he had retched over, heaving all on the cold floor and shaking like a leaf in bitter winter winds, to now. It was so sudden, so frightening. One second he was laughing, the next Angel was completely blacked out. I'm so grateful for Mark, he knew just what to do when all I could think of was to stand there without a clue as to what I could have done to help.   
  
Roger and Mimi were here for a while, but then got into a fight in the waiting room and Roger stormed off, Mimi leaving not soon after. I give them credit, they tried to keep it quiet, but when Roger gets mad, he gets mad. Mark stayed, handling most of the paperwork, while I remained in the room with Angel. I don't even know how we're supposed to pay for any of this.   
  
One nurse had been originally assigned to him, and asked ma a few questions that I wasn't in the mood to answer. I remember the interrogation clearly.   
  
  
------------------------------------  
  
"Hello, I'm nurse Jan. Please sit down. Now, when did these symptoms first start up?"  
"I-I'm not sure."  
"When did you first see the changes in his behavior? Were there any?"  
Mark had looked at me, and I at him. I couldn't answer these questions. I needed to be in that room, with my Angel, not sitting there in that latex chair answering mindless questions.   
"I told you, I'm not sure. If I could just get in and see him-"  
"That is out of the question sir. He cannot have visitors at this time."  
"I have-"  
"Once we have ran some tests on him, we'll see. But not now!"  
I hated her, I hated her more than anything at that moment. She couldn't try and stop me from seeing him. I had to see him. I had to-it would kill me if I didn't.  
"Please-"  
"No."  
  
------------------------------------  
  
  
I stood with my hands pressed against the glass of a window that shown into Angel's ward. I could see his head laying limply on the semi-soft pillow, his pale lips slightly parted as if talking in his sleep, and he went through partial flashes of REM at different moments. Angel shivered, those blankets weren't half as warm as he needed. If I was in there-  
  
'But you're not.' A voice murmured softly in my ear. I didn't want to hear it.   
  
But if I was-that I would be ready with another blanket in no time. Ha, take that stupid voice. Now I had felt silly, here I was, retorting to my inner phonation.   
  
The door opened on the side, and into his room walked about three nurses and two doctors, all clad in the same white coat, and white gloves, and white pants-they looked like giant teeth. Quickly they began hooking wires up to him, and watching the small pulsing screen in front of them, little pens clicking against their sheets with notes.   
  
/He isn't a lab rat!/ I wanted to yell as loudly as I could. That detached attitude they took towards him-It was all I could do not to scream. He was so small, so helpless, so incredibly ill...  
  
  
After a few minutes of this watch, they unhooked the wires, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. Then, they left as quickly and suddenly as they had come in one galloping marshmellow-clad herd.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hours may have gone by, I don't exactly remember, when the nurse came out and looked at me.   
  
"You may go in and see him now, if you wish. He's got some lung problems which means there will be some minor surgeory done later."  
"All right."  
  
Surgeory? They were going to cut him open? The thought appalled me as I walked cautiously into the room. It was all white, and looked as though there were hidden cameras everywhere, that watched your every move.   
  
"Angel?"  
  
That was silly, I knew he wouldn't wake up. But still-  
  
"Angel girl. Are you awake?"  
  
One dark eye fluttered open halfway, then the other.   
  
"Collins? Where...am...I...?"  
  
He looked around, dazed and confused. One of his sfot hands sought out mine in a slightly childish manner. I honestly didn't mind, it was nice to feel his skin against mine again. But, it was cold-his hand was. A bit too cold for someone who had just been sleeping.   
  
"You're in the hospital."  
"What?"  
  
He tried to sit up, battled for about two seconds with dizzyness, and collapsed to the bed again.   
  
"I don't like hospitals. Hospitals don't like me. I want to leave. Please Collins."  
  
He was shaking, and I was confused. Since when did he act so scared? So childish? I loved him no less, but this was different, and frightening. His dark eyes pleaded with me, begged me to take him home where he felt safe, instead of in this white room, with it's horrid bed and cold floors.   
  
"They're just going to do a small, routine surgeocal procedure. It'll be okay. I promise."  
  
His eyes flew wide at the word "Surgeocal" and gripped my hand harder.   
  
"Collins, I want to leave. I don't want to be here, I don't-"  
  
Angel fell into a coughing fit, chest rising up and down pitifully, yet, harshly.   
  
"Angel, Angel, shhh..."  
  
I touched his head, tried to soothe away all of his fears. Yet my advances had no effect, for my own fear shook me too hard. What if, what if he didn't get better? The thought made my heart ach and twist inside of my chest.   
  
"Collins-" Angel seemed to realize that there wasn't much he could do, then bit his lip and reveled under the touch like a cat under a stroking hand, troubled expression remaining on his face. "Tom-"   
  
He had never called me that, well, never as in when he wasn't writhing under the sheets at two in the morning after we'd both had too much to drink. It disarmed any sense I had left in me, sending millions of tiny shivers up and down my back. Not many people used my first name, I always had been referred to as Collin. But maybe it wasn't what he said, but the way he said it, sweet face turned up to mine with quivering lips and the uttermost trust wringing through his entire expression. Whatever it was, I couldn't stand it for much longer.   
  
I couldn't figure out for the life of me whether I was relieved or frightened when a nurse returned to the room.   
  
"Time to go. Oh! You're awake!"  
  
She smiled all too good-naturedly, and bustled about in a small closet, emerging again with something like a tube, connected to a strange looking peice of machinery. I was sure that if I got a good look at it I could have identified what it was sooner, but my attention was drawn to the pale Angel.   
  
"This ought to put you right back to sleep." She chirped as if Angel was a small child. I felt a surge of satisfaction as he slanted her a dark look, then muted by a fit of coughing. The nurse from hell attached the small tube to his mouth, ignoring the glare, and flicked a switch. Of course, sleeping gas-for the surgeory.   
  
"Just breathe it in nice and deep...Angel, is it?" She looked on the small sheet, and gave him an odd look, "interesting name..."  
  
Soon, the vapor began to take it's toll, as the brown eyes that had been so forcefully locked on mine before blinked, and fogged over to form sort of a dreamy cast. He seemed to struggle to keep them open, closing them for a moment, then jerking them open like some sort of reversed blink. Finally, the chemicals won, and long lashes grazed the cheeks heavily, while the pale hand previously gripping mine slid limply from my grasp. With a small smile of satisfaction, the nurse turned to me.   
  
"The doctor should be coming in any moment. You'll have to leave."  
"Can't I just-"  
"Stay for the surgeory? No, but don't worry, your-brother? Will be fine."  
"He's not my brother."  
"Relative?"  
"No."  
She looked at me for a moment, and the limp hand I now held.   
"Oh, I see. Well, none the less, you'll have to go. He should be fine."  
And with that, she pushed me out of the room.   
  
  
  
"Collins!"  
I turned my head, to see Maureen blinking at me, with Joanne close behind.   
"Hi Maureen, Joanne."  
"Hey. So, where is he?"  
Maureen looked at him, voice hushed.   
"He's having surgeory done. They said something about flushing out some of the excess AZT or something. It seems his doctor diagnosed wrong."  
"And you still don't know what's up? I mean, it started before hte doule AZT, right?"  
"Yeah, but they haven't the slightest clue about that."  
"Gawd I hate being in hospitals. They give me the creeps."  
  
The drama queen smiled, and touched my shoulder.   
  
"I really am sorry, but I'm sure it will be okay."  
"I hope."  
  
Maureen then scampered off, muttering something about a soda machine. I was left with Joanne, who gave me a concerned look.   
  
"You look tired Collins, maybe you should go in the waiting room and rest."  
"No, I want-" A lump formed in my throat, "I want to be here when it's over, so I can go in and be there when he wakes back up. If-"  
"If. Well, I understand Collins, but you still need sleep, or at least something to eat. How about I go get you something, all right?"  
"Okay. Thanks Joanne."  
"Hey, it's no problem. I'm used to getting stuff for Maureen, like this is gonna bother me? Hah!"  
  
  
Joanne came back, I ate a cup of yogurt. She left, Maureen left. Mark came back, he talked for a little while, then left. Roger and Mimi didn't come back, though I think I saw Roger in the waiting room for a little bit, fighting with a nurse. Me? Well, I sat by the window, looking at the closed curtain around Angel's bed, and praying as hard as I could that it would turn out all right.   
  
It seemed like ages before they finally opened the curtain and left. Before I could enter again though, I was confronted by one of the doctors. He was a nice looking man, with eyes that crinkled warmly around the corners and an easy smile. Now though, the smile was missing from his old face, as was any friendly warmth.   
  
"Are you Collins?"  
"Yes, how did you know?"  
  
I hadn't filled out any papers that needed my name, Mark had done all of those, as I was in perhaps too great of a shock to even write "Tom" out.   
  
"He talks in his sleep." I almost laughed, but the situation didn't exactly call for it. "I'm afraid we have some bad news. The symptoms that were discribed before the double dosages of AZT all point to acute sensing disorder, which often happens to HIV cases. We were right in our thoughts, and the nerves around his stomach and neck are frayed a bit. Pneamonia also seems to have hit him, and with his AIDs problem, I'm sure you realize the grave situation. Whatever doctor he went to obviously didn't know what he was doing, because taking the double dosages of AZT has damaged much in his stomach, and clogged parts of his throat."  
"So," I began, trying to keep my voice from breaking, and my knees from collapsing, "what you're saying is that there is no hope in helping him."  
"We could try hooking him up to IV pumps. But that could keep him in the hospital for weeks, even months. And honestly, I don't think it'll do much."  
"Then, he's going to die?"  
"I'm sorry."  
  
I hated the hospital. I hated the staff. I hated their calm attitude and indifferent feelings. I hated the fact that they wouldn't do anything. That they couldn't do anything, to save my Angel. I hated the doctors, and the nurses, and the white walls, coats, and the IVs. I hated HIV, and AIDs, and pheamonia, and the doctor that had told him to take double the AZT. But most of all, he hated himself for not getting Angel here earlier. For not seeing earlier. For not acting earlier. It was a void unfillable.  
  
I pulled away from the doctor and entered the room again. This time, it felt even more stifling than the first time I had been in there. He was half awake, the pillows were the only things keeping him relatively propped up.   
  
"Collins?"  
"It's me."  
  
His voice was scratchy from the tests, but still carried over that light tone quality.   
  
"What did they say?"  
"What did who say?"  
"The doctors. What did they say?"  
"They said-they said-"  
"That I'm going to die? I could have told you that."  
  
I sat on the edge of her bed, sliding my arm around her bony shoulders and hugging her close. Angel pressed his head against my arm, closed his eyes, and murmured something inaudibly. This was how it was supposed to be. Angel and I, together, forever. But forever was ending too soon.   
  
We sat there like that for a while, just listening to the sound of employees scurrying up and down the hallway. Some looked in and gave us a weird look, but I didn't care. I was with my Angel, with my life, and nothing could touch me there. Finally, he pulled back a little, and looked up at me-I knew that the time had come to say goodbye, I just didn't want to do it.   
  
"Collins-"  
"...Yes...?"  
"I love you."  
  
He closed his eyes, and rested up against me, almost bonelessly. In an instant his final breath was taken, not even leaving enough time to hear my reply.   
  
"I love you too."   



	4. Tears in Darkness

Author's Note: Yes, I'm actually continuing this fic, I just now got around to doing it though...::shudders:: Ah yes, nad I apologize if I make certain characters sound a bit insensitive at some parts. I try to keep people human when I write.   
  
-------------------  
  
Tears in Darkness  
  
  
"Collins-"  
  
Mark's hand hesitated, hovering just over Collins' door. It had been four months since Angel's death, and Collins had been virtually untouchable, cringing away from even a pat on the back or kindly word. As expected, no answer emerged from the room, and Mark let his hand drop back down to his side. Slightly irritated, he talked to the door, knowing full well that Collins could hear him, and hoping he'd listen.   
  
"Collins, we're all gonna watch a couple of movies. Do you want to join us?"  
  
Silence.   
  
"Well, if you change your mind, we'd really like you to come out and watch them with us."  
  
Again, silence.   
  
"Collins, you have to come ou-" Mark began to say, before closing his mouth and bowing his head. "Just, call if you need anything." He finished lamely, before spinning around and joining Roger and the others in the other room.   
  
"Is he going to come out?"  
"I don't think so."  
  
Mimi nodded her head, before turning to Maureen.   
  
"So what did you rent?"  
  
Maureen held up a stack of movies.   
  
"Well, I got..." Maureen went off to name all the movies she had rented from the small downtown store. Nods of approval, followed by groans and laughs, came from each title. Roger took a wary glance towards Collins' door, and nodded.   
  
"I'm gonna go see whether I can get him to join us...  
  
  
--------------------------  
  
  
Collins sighed, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to think, he didn't want to speak. The pain he bore on his chest prevented him from trying to get up to his feet. A sharp knock on his door seemed to echo through his skull, creating the effect of a loud, beating drum banging in his head.   
  
A beating drum. A beating heart.   
  
Another God damned knock.   
  
"Collins, it's Roger. Mark said you won't come out to watch the movie's with us. Come on, you can't stay in there forever."  
  
/Watch me./ Collins thought silently, before rolling to his side and burying his face into the soft pillow. Inhaling deeply, he sighed as the warm smell of cinnamon and roses invaded his nostrils. The sheets still smelled like Angel, even after all these weeks. Tears stung his eyes, but he clenched the lids shut, squeezing them away.   
  
"Collins, you can't just lock yourself in your room. It's unhealthy." A pause, Collins almost thought he had left, before the voice resumed. "Do you think Angel would have wanted you to shut yourself up from the rest of the fuckin' world? Hm?"  
  
That hurt.   
  
"Come on Tom. Just come out and watch the movies with us. It won't kill you. You might even have a little fun."  
  
/Angel./ Collins thought, screaming inwardly, before climbing laborously to his feet, straightening his clothes, and daring to step over to the door, opening it. He said nothing, but turned his face away from the satisfied smile that seemed to loom over Roger's countenance.   
  
Together, they walked back to the living room slowly, before Collins sat down quietly on teh couch, trying to ignore the triumphant smiles being directed in his direction. Joanne popped in a tape, and for the next two and a half hours, he was left in the dark in the silent room as the glowing screen of the TV took all attention off of him.  
  
Maureen, yawning, stood up to insert the last tape. Mark took a look towards Collins, who sat on the couch, sank in his own melancholy. The man looked fast asleep. With a nod, the drama queen pushed play on the tape.   
  
Background music began playing, and Collins' eyes, unbeknownst to everyone else, flickered open, only to mist over smoothly with salt-filled tears. Script on the screen detailed out the title.   
  
"VICTOR/VICTORIA."   
  
Dark arms moved, so that Collins ended up hugging himself, in a vain attempt at self-comforting. Part of him wanted to scream at the other residents in the room, how could they think that he wouldn't notice, wouldn't care, wouldn't...  
  
A tear slid down his cheek, followed by another, until they were streaming down his cheeks. Damn drag queens, damn friends, damn movie, damn Angel. The movie music played on, scenes ran, people danced, all cloaked under the wash of liquid that danced in front of Collins' eyes.   
  
Mark looked up at the sound of a soft sob, eyes landing reluctantly on Collins. Maureen followed his gaze, before jumping up to hit the stop/eject button. She was stopped by a bass voice.   
  
"No, no, don't let me ruin your fun. I'd hate to be the cause of you guys not watching what you want." Collins' tone was bitter, as he rose to his feet and started for the door. "And thanks so much for being so supportive. I really appreciate it."  
"Collins-" But before they could stop him, he had walked swiftly from the loft.   
  
  
------------------------------  
  
The streetlights cast an eery glow over Avenue A, as Collins sat down on a small corner, next to an abandoned telephone booth. Hands slowly hovered over an imaginary drum, as he closed his eyes, humming softly to himself.   
  
I think they meant it/  
When they said you can't buy love/  
Now I know you can rent it/  
A new lease you are my love/  
On life/  
Be my life-/  
  
Collins stopped, and thought mournfully.   
  
/Be my life. Angel baby, you were my life. I was so lonely, I was so sad. Then you were there, there to make me happy again, and make me smile. No matter how much I tried to smile before, I was still lonely. Then I had you, and everything was better. Everything was better, before you died./  
  
A cold rush of wind blew past him, making him shiver slightly. Collins had forgotten a coat.   
  
/Mark said that there were two types of people in your life. One type came and stayed forever, to be there whenever you needed them. The other type were people who came for a breif time, to serve some purpose, to help you in some way, and then to vanish from your life just as quickly as they came. You must have been one of those people. No one could ever touch me the way you did. I miss you so much, sometimes I almost-I almost wish I could die, so we'd be together again. Damnit, I'm so tired of living./  
  
There wasn't a breath in the air now, the street still as if listening to his forlorn thoughts.   
  
/And the others! Renting that movie, did they think I wouldn't notice? Did they think I wouldn't care? Every goddamn minute I watched, it reminded me of you. Your voice, your smile, your fashion sense, your everything...Is love supposed to hurt this much?/  
  
It almost seemed as if an answer was breathed in his ear-the cool wind beating against the walls of adjacent buildings.   
  
"Yes..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. The Shell of a Man

  
  
"What happened?" Mark wondered aloud, hands in pockets, staring at Collins, who lay on the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed made the matress under him sag, and he was close to sliding off onto the floor.   
  
This had been Mark's sitting place for the past three days. This had also been his thinking place for the past three days. So much had happened, too much for him to handle. Angel had gotten ill. Angel had died. Collins had fell into depression. Roger had moved to Santa Fe. Collins pulled himself out of depression. Roger had moved back. Mimi had gotten ill. Mimi had almost died. Mimi came back to life with the story of a white light and Angel. Collins sank back into depression.   
  
What happened? Collins had arrived at their door with money, and even a smile-which had been a preciously rare thing ever since Angel's death. It had been like the old Collins was back, ready and steeled to take on the world again. Then the problem with Mimi came up, and as Roger held fast to his newly healed lover, Collins fell back again.   
  
Mark couldn't say he blamed him. Benny was leaving. Maureen and Joanne talked about agents and hitting it big in the performance feild. Roger and Mimi couldn't be torn apart for the life of them. Only Collins and Mark were left. But even he couldn't be there for the teacher, he had immersed himself in the film work.   
  
It took Mark at least a week to realize the change in his friend's behavior. All of a sudden, it was back to square one-locked doors and all. Guilt had become an average thing for Mark, as he realized how far Tom had slipped back without them noticing.   
  
After a while, it was apparant that Collins wasn't going to fight back again. All life had slipped out of his eyes. No emotion could be read on his face, a countenance devoid of happiness, of feeling, and of the will to live. Days were spent holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling with only the steady rise and fall of his chest and occasional blink to indicate life in the ex-teacher. Letters sent to him all lay in a pile by his bed-unopened. The books on his shelves collected dust. Almost everything in the room had, except for the blanket he lay on top of. Collins was simply a shell of himself now, and nothing more.   
  
"Collins," Mark said slowly. There was no change in expression. Brown eyes continued to stare, void of all feeling, up at the ceiling. "Collins, we're all going out tonight to dinner. Maybe you should come."   
  
He waited for an answer. None came.   
  
"You know, Maureen's got this friend-and ex who she's driven to homosexuality-who she thinks you'd really like."  
  
Immediately after it left his mouth, Mark regretted his words. Although it did bring a reaction from the man, it was not a preferrably desired one. Collins head tilted up slightly, and he looked at Mark for a moment. No tears, no words, simply looked at him. All the same, the filmmaker could see the depth of anguish that coursed through Collins' body. He bit his lip soundly. Collins lay his head back down on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling again. He did not cry. Tom's crying had been done. There was nothing left to cry.   
  
There was nothing left of Collins.   
  
"Are you sure you don't want to come?"  
  
No answer. Silence seemed to hang over the air like a thick fog, making Mark slightly dizzy. Slowly, M. Cohen got to his feet, and looked at Collins a moment. For a moment, he seemed torn with indecision. Finally, he reached forward, and lay a pale hand on Collins' own large dark one. His silent companion didn't move.   
  
"It's all gonna be okay Collins." Mark turned around and began to walk out. Suddenly, he heard behind him a soft voice murmur.   
  
"No it's not."  
  
Mark averted his eyes from Collin's form, and walked out the door, shutting the door with a slight clap behind him. 


	6. One Life to Live

  
Collins-  
The life support group is organizing a memorial for those members and loved ones of members who have died in the past couple of years. We would be honored if you would attend and perhaps make a speech about Angel Schunard-if you think it would be possible.   
  
Thank you,  
Paul  
  
  
  
  
Collins stared at the piece of paper in his hand blankly, slowly reading it over once, twice, and a third time, before setting down on the bed next to him. Everything around him was silent. Mark had gone out. Roger had also. He was the only one left.   
  
Both days and nights had been almost equally hard for Collins in the past couple of months. Losing Angel had drained him of everything. It was just two weeks ago that he had firmly decided to regain control of his life. Coming to terms with himself was painful, but he continued to tell himself that all his suffering was for Angel. And for Angel, he would do anything.   
  
The letter had come that day. Plain sheet of paper, plain penciled hand writing. There was nothing special about the letter itself, or it's contents really. But, dispite his continued drive to live his life fully, the idea of making a speech about Angel in front of the attendants of the memorial made him shake all over. Not for the first time, he questioned his ability to do it.   
  
A million thoughts raced through his head. Should he go? That was a given. He would go, if only to pay homage to his beloved. Should he make a speech? That was the real question. If he did, then it would have to do justice to Angel-that would be hard. Collins fell back on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. Slowly, one hand reached out to the side table and he pulled over a picture of Angel that had been taken on Valentine's day. Tom cherished that picture. He loved it. The sweet smile that lingered on the perfect lips. The amber eyes that sparkled with mirth and a love of life. The radiance that hung over his entire being. It was Angel, captured for eternity.   
  
"Well Angel? What do you think? Should I write the speech? Could I read it?" Collins voice was quiet, and questioning. He often talked to the picture as if it were really Angel. Somehow, it managed to bring him comfort.   
  
The picture said nothing.  
  
"I'm not sure. I don't know whether I'd make it all the way through. I can hardly mention your name without feeling like I'm going to burst into sobs. You've worked me through so much...but I don't think I'm strong enough to-" He stopped, and looked at the photograph for a minute. Silently, he let a tear stroll down his cheek. "Maybe-maybe this /is/ the right thing to do." Another tear, before he tenderly whispered, "I miss you so much..."  
  
Collins forced a smile on his face, dispite the dampness of his eyes. the photograph smiled back, and the eyes seemed to laugh with gentle joy that was so characteristic of his deceased lover. One dark finger came up to brush the picture's cheek, before setting it face-down on his chest and staring up at the ceiling again.   
  
It was dark when Collins woke up. An insistant rapping at his door had roused him from the sleep that had slipped over him during his silent reverie.   
  
"Collins?"  
"Come in."  
  
Mark walked in, smiling. Ever since Collins had slipped back into despair, Mark had tried to stay comforting. Seeing his friend back on his feet had brought the filmmaker an incrediable amount of joy.   
  
"Hey. You were asleep when we came home."  
"Sorry."  
"Naw, 's okay."  
  
Mark smiled, and looked at Collins. A picture lay facedown on his lap, where it had slid when Tom had sat up. Instantly, M. Cohen knew what it was.   
  
"So, anything interesting happen while we were gone?"  
"I got this."  
  
Collins held out a slip of paper, the letter he had received earlier. Mark read it over quickly, and slowly raised his eyes to meet Collins'.   
  
"Are you...gonna make a speech?"  
"I guess. I've yet to write it though. I'm thinking I might do that tonight."  
"Well then...we'd like to come with you."  
"I wouldn't dream of going alone."  
  
Smiles were exchanged, before Mark backed towards the door. "Call us if you need anything."  
"I will."  
  
With that, the door shut softly. Collins watched after Mark for a moment, before scrummaging around for a piece of paper and a pen. Once acquired, he scribbled down the first two words.   
  
"Angel Schunard-" The pen dropped again, and a line was stretched through it. Once again, he started. "Angel was-" Another line slid through the words. One hand came up to the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I can't do this. It's too hard. I'm just gonna-" Collins stopped, his eyes turning to gaze on the picture by his side. With a melancholy sigh, he picked it up once again and looked at it, one finger slowly stroking the photograph's face. "Well? Have you any ideas? What could I possibly write to make people understand how much you meant to everyone you came across? How could I make people understand how much you meant to me?"  
  
Once again, the picture remained silent.  
  
"Maybe I shoud just write what I think. That would work, right? Oh, sometimes I just don't know what to do without you here holding my hand. Angel, baby, you did so much for me. Maybe I should write about that."  
  
The picture continued to smile knowingly.   
  
"For once, the drag god is out of advice." Collins sighed. "Ah well, I can't exactly expect you to start talking, can I? Still, I need your help with this. I can't do it alone. I can't do any of it alone."  
  
Silence reigned over the room for a few moments, before slowly, a drawled humming sound rang in Collins' ear for a moment.  
  
"Tom-" The humming seemed to whisper at him, "write what you feel..." The phantom-like voice stopped. Collins waited. No sound returned to him. Closing his eyes, then opening them again to look at his precious picture, Collins bent over the paper, and gingerly wrote down exactly what had begun to form in his head.   
  
"Two years. It had been two years since I met Angel. Two years since I first knew what love really was..."   
  
Diligently, Collins worked on the piece throughout the night. It was close to 12 when he had finished, and quietly set down his paper and pen by the bed. With a solemn thought towards the last couple of hour's work, he closed his eyes, too emotionally worn to worry about changing for bed. In a moment's time, he was fast asleep.   
  
  
  



	7. A Reason to Live

December 24  
  
Collins stood up in front of a reasonably small crowd of about fifteen, twenty people. A memorial for the deceased of the past couple of years had been organized by the life support group. It had taken him days to write and revise the speech for Angel. And he had spent much thought deciding whether he truly wanted to stand up and read it. Surveying the crowd now, he could make out the dark, made up face of Angel's best friends Sasha. Sasha had never attended a life support meeting, he didn't have AIDS, but had still come to pay respect to Angel. Shelby sat beside Sasha, one thin arm hooked around the elder drag queen's waist. Tom had never really gotten a chance to talk to the exotic group of transvestites /Stop stalling./ He murmured to himself, before he took a deep breath, and began.   
  
"Two years. It had been two years since I met Angel. Two years since I first knew what love really was."  
  
A breath was drawn as he looked out into his audience. Mark had shot a smile his way, and the others had all gathered around. A renewed courage sprang up in him as he continued.  
  
"Mark always had his work. He was the brooding artist that spent days at a time working with his camera. I always envied him of his creative spirit.   
  
"Roger was the musician, talented and suave. The first thing you noticed about him was the striking good looks and fiery character. Never once had I ever possessed such a charge of personality.   
  
"Benny had an entrepreneural mind that overflowed with commercial ideas that would bring in money. His dreams had differed from the rest of ours: He had wanted studios and neckties. The perfect businessman.   
  
"Maureen. She was, well, Maureen. An odd girl out in our band of friendship-being the only female in the loft. I don't think she minded though. She had the most gorgeous voice you'd ever hear, and the looks to match it. Exotic and feisty-she caught every guy she walked past's eye.   
  
"Then there was me. Plain old Collins. I wasn't amazingly good looking, incrediably business minded, creatively brooding, or even straight for that matter. I was the teacher, the "vagabond anarchist," the lone ranger.   
  
"I can still remember when I had gotten up the courage to tell Roger, Mark, Benny and Maureen that I was gay. Maureen hadn't minded at all. Benny had detached a little bit-but I had never felt too close to him anyway. Mark shrugged it off, and supported me. Roger blew a pipe. He screamed and hollared about me not belonging with them, and ordered me out of the loft. That was when I accepted the job at MIT. I had been meaning to turn it down, but I could tell that Roger was too uncomfortable with me around. And as far as I went with freedom and anarchy, I couldn't force through awkwardness Roger out of the loft. So I left.   
  
"After a while, I'm sure I was forgiven, because I received a letter later asking me to come visit sometime. It had been from Roger. It was nice to know that he wasn't still pissed off at me. But I still needed a little while to pull my life together. I stayed at MIT for seven months.   
  
"Roger always had girls around him. Touching him, laughing with him. I had gotten used to the ease in which he found lovers. Benny had his Alison. Maureen had Joanne. And Mark-Mark had himself. Had himself and his camera-that was what he was comfortable with. I was so sure that once again I would be passed by. Poor, plain, gay Collins. Poor, plain, gay, /lonely/ Collins.   
  
"Then Angel came along. It was like a dream. For once, someone saw me, and like me for who I was. Not who my friends were, or what my paycheck was. But someone who liked me for /me/. I had never dreamed something so gorgeous, so incrediably alive, could see anything worth it in me. Yet-Angel did, and I fell in love.   
  
"I can't help but admit-my life was in shambles when I met Angel. I had just spent seven months away from my closest friends, I had no idea what I would find upon returning, whether they wanted me there, or whether they even remembered me. A bad brush with fate had left me feeling like a nobody yet again, as the dean at MIT kicked me out because of a little charade I had pulled. His angry words rang in my ears as I boarded the plane back. I hadn't expected anything. A cold greeting was sure to be waiting for me. Roger could even be dead fora ll I knew. When I left, he was suffering from the aftershock of April's death and his own drug use. I can't say I was surprised when I got mugged. That was just like my luck. Collins gets taken advantage of again.   
  
"Battered and bruised, I had suddenly found myself in the arms of a true angel. Everything about him spoke of happiness and contentment. From the grin that would creep over his face and reach all the way to his eyes, making them sparkle amber, to the smooth, graceful way his body moved. I remained enchanted by his every movement-he made it all so frightfully easy and elegant.   
  
"Our first kiss...oh God-I swear my heart had stopped for those endless minutes of contact. His soft lips against mine, his hand that lay on my cheek, and his warm body pressed up against mine. All these things made my knees falter, and it was all I could do not to collapse right there. I cannot say whether he suffered from the same ailments, but I felt him quiver when we touched. It made my heart race as it had never before. Almost terrifying. Every single movement, every single touch, every single time he had moved his lips to caress mine gently, it left me aching, burning for more.   
  
"I had never been one to write poetry. Ask anyone. But suddenly, I found myself up at three in the morning laying in bed, staring at him sleeping, and scribbling down lines on a loose piece of notebook paper. After a while, I started putting a notebook by the bed, just so I could scratch it down in that. When he asked what was in it-at first I had been ashamed. I mean, I was almost certain Angel would laugh, but after a while I told him, and he seemed perfectly fine about it. Even a bit flattered, as the pink in his cheeks revealed.   
  
"I remember-the first time I truly realized how much he trusted me. We had just been talking in the small flat we had managed to rent for a short period of time. The fire had been lit, and it had been our only light-as the electricity bill was one too high for our meager expenses. All of a sudden, he began to tell me about himself. Not just his name, age, or even schooling. But other things, about his parents throwing him out of the house and refusing to keep in touch. About his sister moving away and eloping some foreigner. About his friends, and about Cane.   
  
"Perhaps it was Cane that made me the most angry. As Angel described him, he was an amazingly handsome man with a decieving charm and terrible temper. For five years Angel had remained his lover-his puppet. For five years, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse had been Angel's to cherish. How anyone could want to hurt Angel, how anyone could want to ever make him miserable was so beyond me. I could feel my baby shaking as he told me everything. Tears had long since welled up in his eyes. If there was one thing I hated to see-it was him upset. But for some reason, he had wanted me to know.   
  
"He trusted me.   
  
"After he had spilled everything, I had thought he was just going to clam up, and shrunk back into his protective little shell, as he was wont to when he felt uncomfortable. But then, he had took my hand, pushed me back on the couch, and leaned up close to my ear. I had no idea what he was going to say. Then, in a soft whisper, he had murmured: "I love you."  
  
"He loved me.   
  
"Angel Dumott Schunard, the elegant, gorgeous, sophistocated drag queen who could easily grab almost any person in the world, loved plain, background Collins. For once, /I/ was the center of someone's life. Not Roger. Not Benny. Not Mark. Not Maureen. /Me/.  
  
"I think of that night all the time now. It almost makes me happy-I can still hear his murmured words as if he was right there with me again.   
  
"Those months we were together made me so happy. Even Mark said he had never seen me so vibrant, so content. And I was. I was filled with the most wonderful feeling there was. I was in love. And I was floating a million miles above the ground. It took Angel's death to pull me down. All of a sudden, Angel was gone. Angel was gone, and I was nobody again. I was just another face in the crowd. Once more, I was plain, poor, lonesome Collins was wasn't good enough. But I had tasted love, I had tasted true peace, and I wanted to feel that again.   
  
"After a while, the burning, achy feeling had filled up my entire being. There was nothing left but pented up greif. So I began to seclude myself into my own little shell. I wanted to be alone. That was honestly all I wanted.   
  
"Angel Dumott Schunard. The name fit him. Angel. It was so strange, the way that he had just showed up at exactly the right time with his warm comfort and encompassing joy. Every kiss, every touch, every smile found its way right down to my heart, and slowly melted the blockade I had formed around it over the past seven months. Loneliness had been a way of life, but in an instant I was swept away from the dispairing gulf and warmed by his arms. He truly was my angel-I'm sure now that he was sent by God. Who else could have planned it so perfectly? Angel gave me something to live for.   
  
"Maybe that's why he was sent-to give me a taste of love. To give me a taste of what it's like to be adored, and taken care of. But his job was finished, I was happy, and he wasn't needed anymore. Realizing that hurts-I can't help but want to scream out to the I do still need him. I need him more than anything. I can't live without him. I don't want to live without him. That he means more to me than anything-and that Lord should give him back.   
  
"It took me a little while, but I've realized-I can't hide behind my greif. Angel wouldn't have wanted it. Angel wouldn't have tolerated it. He couldn't stand my sulking-and every time I did it I was greeted with a stony shoulder and an aloof statue for a lover. Not too satisfying in the sex department, and even worse in the love. Angel was always ready with compassion and sympathy, but he couldn't stand brooding, or whining for that matter. Sadness was one thing, but self-pity was another. And Angel knew the difference-he could smell cynics a mile away.   
  
"Rebuilding myself is going to take days, weeks, months, years really. But I feel as if Angel's holding my hand every step of the way. He whispers to me in the breeze, he touches me in the rain, he smiles at me in the sun. I can feel him everywhere-now that I've looked out. I'm realizing-although it hurts like hell-that he's not going to come back, and that no amount of anger or brooding is going to change that. But every time I manage to get out of bed in the morning, and walk down the street with my pockets full of benefactoral funds, I can feel him, pushing me forward every step of the day.   
  
"Angel steered Mimi back to life. I can't say I wasn't upset. Hell, I was pissed off beyond belief. I hated Mimi and Roger for a while. But now Angel's steering me back to life too. I had masked happiness for a week or so, right before Mimi had had her brush with death. But that just made me feel worse. Now, its like a shadow being lifted from my soul. The sunshine is bright, and it's warmer than I've ever known it to be.   
  
"I'm not saying I'm happy now. I'm not. I cry almost every night. Silently, but it still hurts to reach out in the bed I'm sleeping in and feel only sheets. I miss him so much...and almost every morning I fight a war to make myself get out of bed. Some days, I lose, and stay in there for a while-emotionally too worn to try and get up. On those days, I could almost feel Angel laying beside me, head rested on my chest, sobbing at my defeat. It is those days that I wish to die, just to close my eyes and never open them to the harsh light again. However, most other days I manage to get out of bed and pull on clothes. And those days I could almost feel Angel's smile, satisfied and warm, as he nuzzles at my cheek as he was wont to do. It is those days that I know I'll pull through, that I'll manage to live my live for Angel.   
  
"Angel gave me so much. He gave me trust, he gave me happiness, he gave me insight, he gave me the want to give, he gave me love.   
  
"And even though Angel Dumott Schunard is no longer here with me, I know that he's watching somewhere from Heaven. That the rain is his tears, his way of showing me that he still thinks of me, still misses me, in the golden gates that wait at the end of Jacob's Ladder. Yet the sun is his smile, as he laughs with joy when I manage to walk a step forward into the life that I want, and that I'll live. Angel has given me the most important thing in a person's life-no matter what anyone else says.  
  
"A reason to live."  
  
Tears streamed down his face as he quickly folded his paper and sat down. Mark rubbed his shoulder, Maureen kissed his cheek. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps could be heard behind him.   
  
"That was a really good speech." The vodka voice was husky, and accented heavily. Collins turned around and saw the slim figure of Sasha standing in back of him, accompanied by an assortment of well-dressed drag queens. Angel's exotic group of transvestite friends.   
  
"Thanks."   
"Yanno, I never thought I'd actually admit this, but you're not as bad as we all thought."  
"What?"  
  
Darkly painted lips curved upward in half a smile as Sasha extended a hand.   
  
"I'm Sasha Fermot, and I'm willing to forgive you for taking away the second best drag queen in our group. Angel had always sorta wanted us to like you. I...guess we didn't really want to. But we figured now, from your speech, that you really did take care of my Angel."  
  
The way he said it, "my Angel" made Collins wonder exactly what he meant. Then he remembered all the times Angel had smiled and talked about Sasha. Sasha taking care of him. Sasha cleaning up after his thoughtless messes. Sasha taking him under his wing in the cold, unfeeling downtown NYC. In a moment, Tom understood.   
  
"I'm Tom Collins. It's nice to meet you as well. You know, Angel talked a lot about you all."  
  
A murmur of acknowledgment swept over the drag queen group as another one stepped forward: Shelby, Sasha's lover and devoted apprentice.  
  
"I'm Shelby Kingson. Hi."   
  
The bright smile was hard to resist, and dispite himself, Collins let a small smile creep upon his own face. One by one each of the crossdressers introduced themselves, before Sasha finally spun around, motioning for them to follow him. A few words were tossed over his shoulder back at Collins.  
  
"You take care of yourself Collins. And that speech really was great. Bye." The band disappeared from view. Mark, Roger, Mimi, Maureen, Joanne, and Collins all watched after them.   
  
Slowly, Collins looked up and let his eyes focus on the sky. Through the thick canopy of gray clouds...a small ray of sunlight shined through, and landed directly on Angel's tombstone.   
  
A reason to live.... 


	8. A Brush With Death

A Brush with Death  
  
  
It was raining. Not hard, but hard enough to cause the hair on your arm prick up and passing cars hit you with a misty spray.   
  
Collins walked in this rain, slowly, around the downtown area of New York. Everything seemed different, even darker, than he could ever had remembered it being. Except for those few months after Angel's death...Despite his brave smile and upright standing, he was weakening with the days, and every step brought him another wash of slight discomfort. Sometimes pain, but mostly just an aching that welled from deep inside of him and flooded his heart with cold.  
  
It was like a reunion. Maureen and Joanne's big plans for Broadway fell through when Maureen broke her leg at the audition, so they had moved back in with Mark, Roger, and Mimi while the bone healed. Mimi and Roger, they were as close to married as anyone could ever be. Mark had gone on and off with this one girl-Jackie, Collins thought, was her name. But he couldn't be sure. Benny, Benny had gotten in thick with Alison, and was taking refuge back at the loft. With his pleading smile and cunning way with words, ill feelings were forgotten and he was accepted graciously. To everyone's surprise, he was as kind as everyone had previously thought him slimy.   
  
Collins had just needed an escape for a little bit. Even now, excitement made him a little unhappy. Even worse was the holiday season that was rolling around again. Tomorrow would have been his three-year anniversary with Angel.   
  
If Angel was still alive.  
  
Realizing that he always started to get down around this time, everyone back at the loft had let him go off on a walk without comment. Honestly, Collins didn't think anyone really noticed. All of a sudden Mark had gotten very involved with some new film of his. A new film that almost everyone but Collins seemed to be in on. After about five minutes of pondering on the subject, Tom had shrugged it off and turned his attention to other things. Somehow, nowadays he didn't always feel a part of his old friend's personal lives anymore. Sometimes they'd come to him for advice, but mostly, it was just he.   
  
Not that Collins blamed them. They were happy, Maureen and Joanne, Roger and Mimi, Benny, even Mark. The last thing he wanted was to rain on their parade.   
  
Speaking of rain.   
  
A cold wash fell over him as a car sped past. His coat was drenched completely. With a begrudging sigh, he leaned over and began to attempt to wipe off the sopping water. All his attention focused on his wet clothing, Collins never realized what was heading towards him at the breakneck speed.   
  
It all seemed to go in slow motion. The honking of the horn. The wild look in the driver's eyes as he tried to swerve around Tom on the slippery road.   
  
All of a sudden, a strange feeling of hands being pressed against his chest flooded Collins' nerves, and he was jolted to the left. The car hit him with a crash as he fell to the cement, bathed in red blood and coughing repeatedly. The vague sound of a car door slamming entered his ears, along with the hum of the crowd the accident had gathered.   
  
"Get a phone!"  
"Somebody call a doctor."  
"Somebody call an ambulance!!"  
  
Collins could see nothing but a blinding light that had flooded his eyes. Softly, a murmured voice whispered something close to his ear.   
  
"Hang on Tom..."  
  
That was the last thing he heard before the light over took him, and he gave in to the pain that was seeping through his skull.   
  
  
  
----------------------------  
  
  
Mark paced in the whitewashed hallway of the hospital.   
  
"Mark," Roger's voice sounded from a chair a few feet away, "sit down and calm down. It's okay."  
"It isn't okay! Collins is in the hospital! We don't even know-"  
"Marky." Maureen's hands fell to his shoulders and pushed him down gently to a chair. The filmmaker slumping in the chair like a limp doll followed weak resistance, face paled.   
  
Roger looked around at the group, gathered together in the waiting room. Maureen sat next to a shaky Mark, Joanne at her side. Benny was sitting by himself, dutifully filling out paperwork. Mimi was curled up next to Roger, slowly shivering. Ever since her own brush with death, sensitivity levels had shot up.  
  
"Are you all here to see Mr. Collins?"  
  
Mark stood up anxiously.   
  
"Yes."  
"You may go in to see him one at a time."   
  
With a sidelong glance, Mark walked slowly into the hospital room where Collins was. Faintly he took in the room number. 224B. The same room Angel had been in. He wasn't sure whether Collins had noticed that or not. Chances are, he hadn't.   
  
"Collins?"  
One dark eye flickered open, and a faint smile was shot Mark's way.   
"Hey Mark."  
"Hey. How are you feeling?"  
"Groggy, and my head hurts."  
Mark nodded, and let his smile grow bigger. Something told him Collins was going to be fine.   
"So, is Jackie-I think that's her name-here?"  
"No, we broke up this morning."  
Collins nodded. "I'm sorry."  
"Hey no problem." Mark said with a laugh. "I've never had much luck with women. You're single, right Collins?"   
This made Collins' smile bloom into a full-fledged grin as he chuckled softly along with his friend.   
"So...what happened?"  
"I'm not sure." Tom's eyes squinted slightly as he tried to remember. "Some car had passed and got me soaked with rainwater. I was brushing it off when there was that honking, and when I looked up, a car was speeding towards me. I didn't even run, it was like I was frozen. Then, there were these..." Collins stopped, and thought for a moment. When he talked again, it came out almost hollow. "There were these hands I felt on my chest that pushed me over to the left. That's when the car hit me. And there was a voice..."   
  
Collins' voice trailed off as his hand drifted up to gently finger a guardian angel pendant that lay on a golden chain around his neck. The metal shined against his dark skin. This had been Angel's pendent for a long time. Two days before his disease, however, he had given it to Collins, asking him to keep it close. This necklace was Tom's prized possession, and he hadn't taken it off since its transfer of owners.   
  
"Collins, you don't think-"  
  
But Collins wasn't listening. His mind had shipped off somewhere else, as the faraway look in his eyes revealed.   
  
Roger's blonde head peeped through the doorway.   
  
"Get out Mark, it's my turn." His voice was chuckling, and it seemed to bring Collins back to the present as he looked up and smiled.   
"All right, all right. I'm leaving." Mark grinned and walked out of the room.   
  
  
  
"So how is he?"  
"He's fine. He says that he felt these hands push him over to the left right before the car hit him though...and he said something about a voice."  
  
Maureen's thin eyebrows lifted up, as she let her mouth drop. "A nurse just told us that if he had been even a little farther over to the right, he would have been killed for sure. You don't think-"  
Mimi nodded. "Angel."  
"He's done it once."  
  
Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, and narrowed his eyes.   
  
"You don't know any of this for sure. And don't you go telling Collins this, it'll just aggravate him more."  
"Don't you see? Angel pushed Collins to the left. If he had been where he was standing, he would have died. Angel saved Collins' life, just like he did Mimi."  
"But-"  
  
Mimi nodded again, taking a deep breath. "It's true. I mean, if Angel steered me back to life, why shouldn't he save Collins'?"  
"Because! That's why!"  
  
Mark clenched his fists and stormed towards the elevator angrily just as Roger was exiting the room.   
  
"Mark, what-"  
"Just get away from me."  
  
Elevator doors clamped shut behind him.  



	9. The Dream

The Dream  
  
(Author's note: Get's a little gruesome...just a tad...may be a bit disturbing as my beta-reader found it...actually, compared to most of my fic, it's relatively gore-free.)  
  
  
It was snowing where Collins stood on the strangely deserted New York street. The small white flakes fluttered around him, speckling his coat in little pale spots. All around him was silence, silence so thick you could slice it with a knife.   
  
Somehow, he wasn't bewildered at the lack of people surrounding the area. Slowly he walked, brown eyes gazing at the powdered buildings and empty cars.   
  
"Collins!"  
  
A light voice yelled out his name, and in an instant Angel had flung his arms about the teacher. Warm rushes of chills sped up and down his spine as he fastened his own arms around Angel. The youth's head buried itself in the elder man's shirt, lovingly nuzzling the dark neck, flooding it's nerves with shivers as the puffs of heated breath caressed skin.   
  
"Angel."  
"I missed you. Oh God, I missed you."   
"I missed you too baby."   
  
Collins was at a loss for words as he held Angel fast, letting his head drop into the dark hair and inhaling deeply the inviting scent of cinnamon and roses that flew to his brain, fogging over his mind with blissful intoxication. Angel murmured something inaudiably, pressing closer.   
  
"Tom Tom Tom Tom Tom Tom Tom...." Angel repeated over and over again, hands reaching up to the familiar face, tracing the curves, his own face still buried in the soft fabric.   
"Angel Angel Angel Angel Angel Angel Angel...." Collins repeated, smiling into the top of Angel's head. His entire being was filled with warmth, with happiness, with a contented fulfillment that he hadn't felt in a long time. Everything else in the world was forgotten as they stood there together, wrapped in a loving embrace.   
  
  
It was Angel's loss of grip that pulled Collins back to reality, as the drag queen began sliding weakly down Tom's frame. Anxiously he supported him, hugging the boy close.   
  
"Angel, what's-"  
"Collins, please, don't..."  
"Angel?"  
  
Collins tried to meet the boy's eyes, but it seemed as though he was gripping a rag doll. Limply, Angel tottered on his feet, the only thing keeping him upright being Collins' support of his limbs. Amber eyes previously filled with affection had blanked as his head lolled on the back of his neck.   
  
With shivering hands, he shook Angel's limp form gently, then harder. The only movement was the flamboyant jolting of the transvestite's arms and head.   
  
Dead. Lifeless. Deceased. Perished.   
  
Gone.  
  
"Angel. Angel-Angel, come on. Angel please. Angel-" The voice cracked as he clutched the inanimate body to his chest. A sob escaped his lips, followed by another. Collins was faintly aware of tears streaming down his cheeks, but he could not bring his hands away from Angel to wipe them away.   
  
The salty liquid slid down his face, and landed onto Angel's pale cheeks, where they began to stroll down his skin as naturally as if they were his own tears. As each drop fell to Angel's countenance, he paled, until he was as frail as a china doll. It was then that the wind came...  
  
Angel had begun evaporating, until he was nothing but a shadow. Just then, a gust of wind tore through, and Collins felt a searing pain erupt from his chest as the shade was pulled from his fastened arms. The drag queen's eyes fell on him sadly, and thin arms reached out to Collins. Vainly he ran after the shadow, but it faded before he was able to reach it.   
  
"Angel!..."  
  
It was too late.   
  
Sobs took over his entire form as his back racked and he tore at his shirt. Why? Why did they have to take Angel?   
  
/HOOONNNNNKKKKKKK!!!!/  
  
Collins' head whipped to the side and he saw the looming form of a large, dark car. It sped towards him. Moving to run, he found his feet chained to the cement. Collins could not move.   
  
The honking became louder, and blared in his ears. Everything around him began to fill up. Crowds of people surrounding him, closing in on him....  
  
Suddenly, Collins saw Angel press on him, push him over onto the concrete, sheilding him as best as the spirit could. Pain ripped through him as the car made contact with his body, and he felt equally the warmth of Angel's mouth meshed against his own, soothing, loving, easing the pain.   
  
"Hang on Tom..."  
  
The pain became too much as Angel's body all of a sudden became chained, and he was ripped up away from Collins again. Unable to move, unable to reach his deceased lover, Tom frantically tried to yell out his name.  
  
"Angel..."  
  
No sound escaped his mouth as Angel's beautiful form was ripped in peices, red blood falling from the wounds onto Collins' own, mixing with his blood, darkening his blood. He screamed.   
  
  
------------------------  
  
  
Collins awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily from his dream. It had been so terrible...so frightening...  
  
One hand reached up, and slowly, hypnotically stroked his guardian angel pendant. Soothing. Calming. Evenly his heart began to beat at a regular rythmn. The teacher took deep breaths, and finally allowed himself to lay back down all the way on the soft pillows.   
  
Angel.   
  
It had all seemed so real.   
  
Collins remained awake for the next several hours, stroking his pendant, assauging the aching, burning pain that resided in his chest.   
  
Finally, sleep claimed his reluctant mind, and he drifted off again. A familiar shade could been seen sitting, barely, on the corner of his bed, stroking Collins' fevered head lovingly.   
  
Tom's guardian angel.   
  
Tom's Angel. 


	10. Once Again

Author's Note: This sort of explains what happened with Mark back in the hospital two chapters before...it was a little confusing, and I meant to explain it in Chapter nine, but I wanted to get in the dream, and....well...just read.  
  
The chapter's kinda pointless, I really just needed something to take up space to the next chapter....  
  
  
Mark sighed, and leaned his head back on the couch, letting his eyes drift closed. Collins was still in the hospital. He was having some more tests done. Two ribs had been broken, and his arm muscles were torn in several places.   
  
Maureen was next to him, nursing her broken leg with the air of someone looking for attention. With a groan, he turned to her and smiled as her cat-like eyes met his with burning frustration.   
  
"My leg hurts."  
"Well, don't forget, we're here because Collins' hurt, not you."  
  
Maureen pouted, then smiled faintly, sitting back up. "Today would be there three year anniversary, wouldn't it?"  
"Yep."  
"Poor Tom..." Maureen murmured between half-parted red lips. None of them had dared call Collins Tom to his face. He had tended to let Angel place reserve on that name, using it as somewhat of a pet name when they had still been together. Now, the usage of that name brought tears to his eyes, even if the teacher had refused to let them know.   
  
Still, Maureen's old habits died hard. She was used to special priveleges from her former roommates. And using first names was one of them.   
  
"Why'd you freak out yesterday Marky?"  
  
Blabbing out whatever was on her mind was another habit.  
  
Mark paled, and avoided her gaze. "No reason."  
"People don't go balistic like you did for no reason Mark."  
"It's just-" The filmmaker stopped, and thought for a moment. It was weird. As soon as they started talking. Angel saving Collins. Angel and Mimi's incident. Collins' accident. "I'm not sure. I just got upset. I mean, all this talk of Angel coming and saving Collins' life, it doesn't seem possible. I know we all miss him, but wouldn't talking about it just make Collins upset?" Mark attempted to steer the conversation away from his strange behavior.   
  
It worked.   
  
Maureen nodded, and sighed. "I guess so. But, then again, Collins might feel, I dunno, fulfilled in knowing that Angel was there to take care of him..."  
"Maybe..." Mark mused, trying to sort out his own thoughts slowly. But before he could manage to say something, a nurse came out of the room.   
  
"You can go in and see Collins now. He should be ready for release by next week."  
"Next week?"  
"Yes, next week."  
  
Mark slowly walked into the room with Maureen, and smiled as his eyes met Collins liquid brown ones.   
  
"Hey."  
"Hey..."  
  
The silence was awkward. They all knew that Collins was often moody, with mixed emotions of the 24th of December. Surprisingly, it was Collins who broke the silence.   
  
"Three years..." The bass voice was slow, and flooded with feeling as he spoke it. "Angel..."  
"Are you feeling-yanno-sad?" Maureen ventured, placing a hand on Collins'.   
"Sort of. It's hard, being without him, but I'm sure he wouldn't want me to just give up...like I did before." Tom was silent, slowly musing at his loss, until reality appeared back in his eyes. "So how's Joanne doing? I haven't seen her in a while?"  
"She's fine."  
"She's a bitch."  
"Fighting again?"  
Mark laughed. "How could you tell?"  
"Oh, no reason. So, how's that 'mystery film' of your's going?"  
The filmmaker smiled, and exchanged a look with Maureen. "Almost done." Then changed the subject abruptly. "So, they say you'll be out of here by next week."  
  
Collins was silent.   
  
"Collins?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Collins, are you okay?"  
  
The fog that had settled over Tom's eyes cleared out, and he jumped as though someone had struck him. "Mark?"  
"Yeah, it's me."  
"I'm sorry, I guess I just spaced out there for a moment. Um...could you do me a favor?"  
"Sure, what is it?"  
"There should be a dozen roses and a dozen daises waiting at the Pennyton Flower Shop under my name. Would you pick them up and take them over to Angel's grave for me today? I'd go myself, but no matter how much money I bribe them, the doctors won't let me out to visit."  
"Sure." Mark nodded, and stood up. "I'll go right now. You coming Maureen?"  
"Nah, I think I'm gonna go find Joanne. She's probably getting lonely right about now."  
"So much for 'happy single.'"  
"Fuck you." Maureen said with a laugh, then kissed Collins' cheek. "You take care."  
"Um-hm...you too. Tell Joanne I said hi."  
"She'll be in later, I'm sure."  
  
Both Mark and Maureen walked out of the room, leaving Collins laying on the bed behind them.   
  
  
/Off to Angel's gravestone.../ Mark thought to himself, and slowly left the room.  
  



	11. At the Gravestone

At the Gravestone  
  
  
Mark's pale hand grasped the bunches of flowers he held tightly, afraid that the strong winds around him would perhaps blow them away. With a light eye he found Angel's gravestone, adorned with several wreaths of fresh flowers. All the dead ones had been cleared away, as Collins before had regularly come to the stone and cleaned it up. No weeds crowded it. No dead flowers lay at it's foot. Only the sweet smell of fresh roses and other floral arrangements lifted the gloom that surrounded the area. Tom had picked the tombstone's spot, wanting it to be sunny.   
  
Slowly, Mark set down the roses and daisys gingerly. The inscription on the stone was simple, and even now slowly fading away from the weathering. Due to the lack of money at the time, proper inscribing and complicated decorations were not affordable at the time of Angel's death. With listless eyes, Mark read the words vaguely.  
  
"In loving memory of Angel Dumott Schunard  
1977-1996  
'No Day but Today'"  
  
With a shaky hand, the filmmaker touched the cool granite. "Hey Angel. Collins couldn't come, he's still in the hospital because of that car accident. But I'm sure you already knew that. The doctor's said he'd be fine."  
  
It seemed silly, talking to this inanimate piece of rock. But somehow, there was an inkling inside of Mark that told him there was something listening. So, he continued.   
  
"Was it really you that saved his life in that car accident? I didn't want to believe it, I don't want to. What's going to happen, if he gets his hopes up that you were really there, then finds out it was just a stroke of luck? Collins'll be crushed, and none of us want that for him. Anyway, if it was you...which I doubt...thank you. Collins is our saving grace, and the only steady presence in our mess of a life. I don't know what would happen if we lost him..."  
  
Mark stopped, and stared at the grave marker for a moment, sadly, before sighing and looking down at the ground.  
  
"That's exactly what I thought about you." 


	12. The Dream II

The Dream II  
  
Author's Note: Okay. This is the LAST CHAPTER!!! Hah!! No more "One More Day." I'm so happy. This is fantastic. This is wonderful. This is not why I wrote this author's note. And now, I forgot what I was going to say. Great.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Mark stared at the loft. It was empty. There was no one there but him and the furniture.   
  
But he could hear people talking.   
  
Roger's voice sounded from the kitchenette, accompanied by Mimi's. Vaguely, he could hear Maureen and Joanne fighting in the other room.   
  
Then Mark heard Benny's slight laugh.   
  
And then, Angel's small giggle from behind him.   
  
"Angel!" Mark stammered as he spun around, surprised. There in back of him stood Angel, clad in a white angel robe complete with golden wings and a halo fashionably tilted to one side. His ambers eyes glimmered with a familiar light.   
"Mark Cohen! Don't I get a hello?"  
"H-h-hi."  
"H-h-hi yourself."  
"But you're-"  
"Dead?"  
"Yeah." Mark nodded, giving Angel a "look." Angel tilted his head to one side, and smiled.   
"You get over it."  
"Oh..."  
  
Just then, the filmmaker turned his head towards the back of the room to see Collins burst through the door. "I'm he-Angel!"  
  
A flush of movement as Collins gathered Angel up into his arms, and fervently kissed at his face. Finally, the angelic transvestite disentangled himself from the embrace and drew back.   
"Collins, I can't stay for very long."  
"Why?"  
"Because. But-" Angel paused, and looked from Collins to Mark, "You're coming with me."  
Mark's face paled, and he suddenly found himself wretching Collins' hands from Angel's waist, pulling the ex-teacher away. "You can't do that!"  
"Mark-you don't understand."  
"I don't understand! You want to take Collins away!"  
In an instant, Angel's face had fallen to a apologetic sort of look. "Yes, I do want to take Collins."  
"But, Collins is ours! You can't just take him back up with you! What about us? You're being selfish, we need him!"  
Angel's voice got very quiet as he walked over and rested his cheek against Collins' chest. "I need him too."  
"Not as much as us."  
"Mark, you've had him for so long. You've gotta know when to let go."  
"You're being selfish."  
"I get lonely!"  
"But, if Collins goes," Mark's voice broke, "then who will I have?"  
"Mark! You'll still have the rest of them! There's someone out there for you. But you've been so tied to the past that you haven't been able to tear yourself away from the bonds."  
"You can't-"   
"Please Mark-" This was Collins' voice, as he held his hands on Mark's shoulders and stared into his eyes. The philosopher's brown eyes held a dancing light, watered down by accumulating tears. "Mark, I want this more than anything."  
"I don't want to let another one go..."  
"You'll still have Roger, and Mimi, and the others."  
"It's not the same! They all have each other! I-"  
  
Collins meant the world to him now. Roger had torn himself away from Mark, focusing everything on Mimi. Maureen, she was-nothing now. Collins was his brother, his friend, his adviser. If there was anything in the world that Mark couldn't give up, it was Collins.   
  
And yet, looking into the lighted eyes that quivered with pleas, Mark realized that trying to pin Collins to him wasn't helping. Collins would never really be happy until he was back with Angel. This gave him that chance.   
  
Collins loved Angel. He needed Angel.   
  
Angel needed him.   
  
"I suppose," Mark murmured, "that heaven can get a little lonely sometimes."  
  
Collins smiled, and hugged Mark, letting out a sigh of relief.   
  
"Whoa there tiger, I'm not like that, okay?"  
  
The larger man laughed, a reassuring sound, and playfully cuffed M. Cohen's cheek. "Goodbye Mark."  
"Goodbye...Collins, Angel."  
  
Angel stretched out his arms, and Collins took them graciously, embracing the transvestite and meshing his mouth against his in a hungry kiss of three years of buried emotion.   
  
A blinding light filled the air, before everything went black.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Mark woke up, he knew.  
  
With a heavy heart, he picked up the phone and listened to a captured message, taped   
not a minute before.   
  
"Speak."  
  
"Mark? It's Collins. You're probably asleep, but-oh lordy, I think there was a little more to the accident than the doctors thought of. I feel sick, the room's spinning around me and-is it just me or did a streetlamp just go out? Mark-I've never wanted Angel here more in my life-I feel terrible. I swear, if you're up, pick up the phone. I get the sick feeling that-"  
  
The machine cut off, and Mark hung his head.   
  
Collins was gone. Gone, back to Angel. Back to where he would be happy.  
  
  
Staring up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, Mark noticed a blazing trail of light-a shooting star. Without realizing it, he remembered a small story his mother had used to recite to him.   
  
"Every time a star falls, a person's soul is rising to heaven."  
  
"Yes," Mark murmured, "But Angel'll greet him with open arms I'm sure."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
THE END!!  
  
The secret to ending an interminable fanfic? Kill of the main characters. HAH!!! 


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